The Rider and the Harad
by Sybel Sayrah
Summary: Gereden is a Rider of Rohan, determined to protect king and country. His mettle is tested against a warrior of Harad...a warrior with a twist.


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A/N: Disclaimer: I own neither Rohan nor Harad, although I did create both of these characters on my own. I reserve the right to use Gereden in the future, and ask that anyone wishing to use him ask me first. This is a one-shot fic, though, and I don't intend to do anything else with this right now.

Also, I am fairly certain that this is true-to-the-book. Please point out any departures, so that I may correct them. Onward!

The sun had not risen for several days. The air around them was always dark and smoky, foggy and intransient.

The horses had been pushed as hard as their riders, covering as much distance as possible between Rohan and Minas Tirith. Gereden had gotten used to the choking dust kicked up in some places, as well as the poor road conditions, the lack of sleep, and the utter darkness.

It was night in Middle Earth. The Dark Lord had stolen the dawn.

"Minas Tirith, my Lord!" shouted King Theoden's banner-bearer at the head of the army. "We approach Minas Tirith!"

_How could he know_? murmured the ranks to each other, over the beating of their horses' hooves. _I can barely see the man in front of me._

"It is getting _lighter_!" shouted a rider in the middle of Eomer's cavalry. The word quickly spread. Riders were looking all around them, a few, then more and more noticing the light, a pre-dawn illumination.

Theoden's banner lifted in the air, and all fell silent, some seeing it for the first time since the sun had set three days before.

"Do you see? Do you see how the light returns to us? Gondor calls and we answer!" He drew his sword, and charged his horse down the road, down the remaining miles between him and battle.

_It may be to all our dooms that we charge,_ thought Gereden to himself as he rode, spirits rising, _but we shall not be forgotten! Theoden shall not be forgotten! Not while I yet draw breath!_

The light was becoming slowly more tangible. The sun already must have been in the sky; a dark fog was lifting, slowly, slowly, from wrapping its tendrils into the souls of all it touched.

"Rohan! Rohan!" the Rohirrim shouted as one as they charged onto the Pelenor Fields. The sun broke free of its shackles and shone down upon their spears as on the facets of a diamond; the jewel of Rohan blazed as bright as the orb above them.

"ROHAN!" Gereden roared, the bellow starting somewhere deep inside his soul, and moving ever outward until it found his throat.

The fight was a blur of men, orcs, and horses, all crashing together, killing each other. Gereden had already killed many, many of the Dark Lord's forces. He rode with Eomer, scything through the enemy, slaughtering any and all who stood in their way.

Then came an Oliphant.

Eomer's men looked at each other and Eomer, and then fanned out. Each gripped a javelin. Eomer threw the first volley. "Rohan!" he thundered, "in the eyes! In the throat! For Rohan!"

The Oliphant wavered as several well-thrown javelins pierced its eyes and even the back of its throat as it roared. It leaned back and forth, its charge nearly stilled. Gereden's eyes almost popped when he saw the Oliphant listing toward him and the few men near him. The Haradrim on the Oliphant stood atop of it, ready to jump the nearest Rider as their mount fell. Gereden could see their eyes through the gaps in their purple mantles, kohl-lined, fierce.

Then one pair of eyes caught his attention. They were softer than the others. The black liner accentuated the warmth of the brown in the irises. _She is beautiful_, Gereden found himself thinking. _What! What am I saying? Am I falling in love with my enemies' eyes?_ he derided himself. _How do I even know that is a woman? They would never allow their women to fight! Well…they are savages. Who knows what their practices are. _He gazed at the woman's (_surely a woman's!_) eyes until she must have felt his piercing stare and turned toward him.

That moment was electric. The eyes behind the burgundy cloth widened in shock even as Gereden's own eyes rounded, their blue the same shade of the sky behind him.

The Harad tore off her headscarf, revealing a woman's face. _I knew it! …How did I know it?_ Gereden rejoiced and feared in the same moment.

It was as if everything moved more slowly. The woman stood almost at his level now, as the Oliphant neared the ground. Time stood still, and the battle wind stirred her black hair across her newly bared face, her eyes shining through. She readied herself to jump at him, holding her weapon at her side. He gripped his sword tightly, his eyes boring holes into hers.

Gereden didn't know exactly how it happened, but suddenly she was in the air coming toward him, raising her scimitar above her head. Her face was oddly calm, peaceful, serene, expressionless. And still their gazes were locked.

He readied his sword. As she hurtled slowly toward him through the air, he drew back his arm, and ran his sword through her chest as she started to bring down the scimitar on his head. Her weapon fell from her limp hands to the ground with a silent clang. Her mouth twisted, but her eyes…her eyes remained the same. Warm. Calm. Sunlight on a river bottom.

His eyes never left her as he watched her fall to the ground. He sat above her on his horse, oblivious to the rest of the battle, his gaze never faltering. She looked up at him, every moment an effort. And she smiled.

He kept looking into her eyes long after all the life had left them.


End file.
